Doctor Baggins
by IsabellaBrandybuck
Summary: Frodo wonders about his ability to nurse when his Uncle Bilbo comes down with a nasty cold.


**Doctor Baggins**

"Rain, rain, go away, come again another day..."

Twenty three year old Frodo Baggins sang to himself as he sat in the parlor reading on the old couch, watching drops seemingly as large as his head splash against the window. Bilbo had gone to the market a good hour and a half before the storm, and Frodo waited anxiously for his return. He knew his Uncle would be a right sodden mess when he got back, not at all a comfortable position for any hobbit.

A violent sneeze caught him off guard as he turned back to his book, and he immediately hopped off the couch, finding Bilbo slodging up the path to Bag End. The hill had turned to mud with the constant stream of water, and his Uncle slipped, tumbling into a great puddle. A string of curses followed, and Frodo cried out with alarm, immediately opening the door.

"Are you hurt?" He called as thunder crashed high above, a flash of lightening searing the thick gray clouds.

"I'm all right...blast!" he looked at the items sprawled on the ground, and sighed heavily.

"Oh Uncle, let me help you," Frodo begged, rushing out and helping to gather the items from the ground, glad they weren't ruined, only a little dirty. That of course, could be mended with a good washing.

Bilbo attempted to respond but only sneezed again, following his nephew into the warmth of the smial. He stood dripping and shivering miserably, and after dropping the basket of purchases, ran to fetch a couple of warm dry towels from the indoor privy. He heard Bilbo sneeze again, cursing in Elvish, and brought the towels into the parlor.

"Thank you, lad," Bilbo whispered, as Frodo wrapped him up tight. "Dear me, I knew this dreadful cold I've been fighting all week would..." he paused, and Frodo winced when another sneeze erupted, along with a series of coughs. "Rear it's ugly head in such nasty weather."

Frodo knew his Uncle had been getting sick, for he was unusually cranky this week, and complained of a sore throat, especially in the late evening.

"I should have gone to the market, Uncle, not you," Frodo said with a cluck of his tongue.

"Nonsense," Bilbo replied hoarsley. "I'll just have a nice warm bath and some tea...that ought to help."

Frodo nodded, insisting he put on the pot, and Bilbo vanished into the privy with another great sneeze. Frodo shook his head...his Uncle never used to get so ill before. He supposed it was because Bilbo had lived along for years, not exposed to illness on a regular basis. Frodo himself had been sick often himself during the winter, and Bilbo always sat with him until he recovered. Now, Frodo thought, he would finally have a chance to return the favor.

He eventually finished heating the water, and made chamomile tea for his Uncle, who lay resting under the covers in his pajamas when he entered the master bedroom. "Are you comfortable?" Frodo asked, handing the steaming mug to the elder hobbit, who thanked his nephew gratefully. "Have you plenty of fresh handkerchiefs, or do I need to find more?"

Frodo opened the drawer to the oak nightstand, and pulled out a stack, setting it at his Uncle's side.

"I'll be fine, lad. It's just a cold, after all. Mind you, keep yourself busy, so I can rest, will you please?"

Frodo leaned over to plant a kiss on his Uncle's forehead, which felt a bit on the warm side. "I'll take care of everything, Bilbo. Don't you fret."

Bilbo smiled, sipping the tea, and this soon gave way to more coughing.

Frodo backed out of the room quietly, knowing how important peace and quiet was to any ill hobbit.

He surveyed the kitchen, cleaned up from second breakfast, and knew it had already passed elevenses. He pawed through the basket, and found cough syrup, willow bark tea, along with fresh meat, bread, vegetables, and fruit for the remainder of that day's meals. Clearly Bilbo hadn't expected to be laid up.

Frodo began to unpack, setting things to rights, and then noticed the enormous load of dirty laundry in the bakset. Bilbo always did his laundry on Sundays, after his trip to the market, and thankfully taught Frodo how to do it as well just in case.

Frodo quickly brought the medicines to Bilbo's room before he got started on any of the chores, and was glad to find Bilbo sound asleep. The elder hobbit muttered something under his breath, reaching absentmindedly towards the pocket of his night shirt.

"Uncle?" Frodo approached the bed. "Uncle Bilbo?" he spoke a bit more loudly, wanting to get his guardian's attention. Bilbo opened his eyes, and found Frodo staring at him.

"Is everything all right, lad?" he asked, wincing, and began to cough.

"Yes...I just brought your medicine for you to take before you get too comfortable."

Bilbo smiled weakly as Frodo opened the bottle of syrup, trying not to gag at the bitter sweet smell protruding from it. He knew all too well medicines tasted awful, but they did help nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Frodo-lad," Bilbo whispered after he took the medicine that Frodo gave to him.

"For what, Uncle?" Frodo asked, capping the bottle, glad Bilbo didn't put up much fuss.

"For being such a burden today. I know you had a date to play with young Samwise later on."

Frodo took his Uncle's hand, which felt awfully cold, and quickly rubbed it to bring what warmth he could.

"Don't you worry about that, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo replied. "I'll let Sam know what happened, and I'm sure he'll understand. You come first, after all. I won't go anywhere until you're well."

Bilbo nodded. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he replied, reaching for a handkerchief. "Thank you, my lad."

Frodo smiled. "I'm going to let Sam know about the change in plans, and them I'll make some nice broth for luncheon. How does that sound?"

Bilbo nodded, though his face soon crinkled, and he sneezed.

"If you start to feel any worse, Uncle, let me know, and I'll send for the healer," Frodo said, and Bilbo waved him off, with a honk from his handkerchief.

Frodo grabbed his cloak and an umbrella from the container in the hall, making his way towards number three Bagshot Row. He was grateful for the attentions of Hamfast Gamgee and his wife, Bel, who treated the Buckland lad with uncommon kindness. Bel in particular acted as though Frodo were part of her own large brood, not at all afraid to spoil him when he came to visit.

Much to Frodo's relief the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but it was still quite chilly in general.

He knocked on the Gamgee's bright yellow door, and was greeted by Bel herself.

"Why young Master Frodo, my Sam has been expecting you! I almost had to stop 'im from charging up the lane. Come in, come in, my dear."

Frodo felt awful as he entered the smaller hobbit hole, to find Daisy and May working on their needlepoint and young Marigold painting. The girls looked up at once at the sound of Frodo's voice, and Daisy's cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson. Ever since Bilbo brought Frodo to live with him, she'd had a dreadful crush, though did not dare let anyone know. She would be humiliated for certain.

"I can't stay long, Mrs. Gamgee," Frodo admitted, just as Sam came hurrying down the hall from the kitchen, as fast as his little furry feet could carry him.

"Mr. Frodo, I've been waitin' for you all morning, sir!" He beamed. "I didn't 'spect you till after luncheon!"

Frodo felt awful at the idea of breaking his plans, knowing how much it would disappoint the younger hobbit, but he simply wouldn't have any fun if he worried about Bilbo the whole time.

"Mind yer manners, Samwise," Bel scolded, and Frodo chuckled.

"He's all right," he insisted, much to little Sam's relief. "Only, I'm dreadfully sorry, Sam, but I'm afraid I can't play today after all. My Uncle has a bad cold, so I came by to tell you I'll have to post pone our adventures for another day."

Sam looked disappointed in deed, but this was immediately replaced with worry. "Mr. Bilbo's sick?"

Frodo nodded his head. "He's been coming down with a cold all week, and got caught in the rain on the way home from the market, which did him in." He fiddled with the edge of his green cloak, and Bel arched an eyebrow. "I'd better be getting back...he'll need me." Frodo turned to leave, but Bel took hold of the tweenager's shoulder.

"Do ye need any help, lad? I know ye don't have much experience with nursin'. If I know Mr. Bilbo, he'll be tellin' you not to be bothered, but he needs proper lookin' after or he'll get right worse."

Frodo wet his lips, and shook his head. "I'll manage, Mrs. Gamgee. After all, didn't you tell my Uncle once that nursing is mostly all about common sense?"

Bel laughed heartily. "Eavesdropping's no good, lad, no good at all," she scolded. "It'll get you into trouble if yer not careful."

Frodo shuffled his feet on the ground, and nodded. "I'll manage, Mrs. Gamgee."

Bel looked doubtful at the young hobbit before her, but knew better than to argue with her betters. After all, Mr. Frodo would one day be the owner of Bag-End, and she had to treat him as such.

"All right, then. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll be over quick as a shot, you can be sure of that."

Frodo nodded, apologizing once more to Sam for the inconvenience, but Sam didn't seem to be too disarmed. "Tell Mr. Bilbo I hope he feels better soon, sir!" he called, waving, and Frodo waved back on his way down the hill.

When he entered Bag-End again, Frodo began a list of chores, using Bilbo's parchment notes as a guide. He washed the laundry in a separate large bin with warm water, dragging a hand across his forehead once he'd finished the first load. He could hear Bilbo coughing from his bedroom, and before he hung the clothes outside to dry (the storm had finally passed, and the sunshine was beginning to peep through the gray clouds), he went to check on his Uncle.

Bilbo lay asleep, much to his relief, only occasionally muttering to himself.

"Poor Bilbo," Frodo whispered. This was the first true cold he'd seen his Uncle suffer since his arrival to Bag-End, and he partially blamed himself for the matter. He was always ill, it seemed, and the one time he felt all right Bilbo was down. "It can't be helped," Frodo mumbled, and struggled to carry the heavy load of wet clothes outdoors. Oh, the air smelled wonderful, so clean and sweet. He adored being outdoors following a rainstorm, especially in Spring and Summer.

He collected some fresh flowers for the kitchen and dining room tables, as well as for Bilbo's study, just in time to see Bel Gamgee coming up the walk.

"Oh!" Frodo clutched his finds to his chest, startled, and Bel carried a bag in her hands.

"I did not mean to startle you, Mr. Frodo, but I thought I'd come and assist with your Uncle. Now don't give me that face, lad, you're only a tweenager, and should not have to trouble yourself with such worrits!"

"I assure you, Mrs. Gamgee, all is..." Frodo tried to protest, but Bel had already entered the smial. "Oh dear," he sighed, and brought the boquets inside. He set everything up in their respected vases, and found Bel in the master bedroom, unpacking her carpet satchel.

"You really don't haver to do this, Mrs. Gamgee," Frodo said, just as Bilbo opened his eyes, alarmed to find Bel sitting in his old rocker.

"Goodness, what a pleasant surprise," Bilbo spoke hoarsley.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Bilbo?" Bel asked. "I thought I'd come help young Master Frodo, seeing as he'll be busy with the chores about the place."

Bilbo and Frodo exchanged knowing glances, and Bilbo chuckled, which brought on another fit of coughing.

"I'll be all right with a good rest," he insisted, and Bel clucked her tongue.

"That's a nasty cough, sir, if you don't mind me saying," she continued.

Bilbo winced at the pain in his chest and throat, aware at the throbbing in his head as well.

"Do you need me for anything, Mrs. Gamgee?" Frodo asked timidly, for though he adored Bel, she could be a little intimidating and gruff. He knew it was just part of her personality, just as Hamfast's, so he got used to it after a time. Still, as far as the health of his Uncle was concerned, he wanted to help as much as he could.

"What has been done so far, Mr. Frodo, if you don't mind my asking? Since yer Uncle got back from the market, I mean?" her gray eyes looked on curiously as Frodo tried to recount the past few hours. Time certainly seemed to run away when a hobbit kept busy.

"He had a warm bath, a cup of tea, and his cough syrup," Frodo ticked the items off on his fingers, and Bel nodded with approval.

"Good, very good." She placed a hand against Bilbo's forehead and cheeks, asking Frodo to fetch a thermometer if there was one nearby.

"Of cousrse," Frodo spoke, and rushed to the medicine chest in Bilbo's privy. He stepped onto the stool and found the device, bringing it to Mrs. Gamgee who had Bilbo eased into a sitting position, raised with pillows.

"It's important not to let him lie too flat for too long," she told Frodo with a smile. "If he's coughing like he is, he'll breathe more easily if he's propped up."

Frodo nodded in understanding. He knew some of the basics of nursing, but only vague memories of what happened to him while he was ill. Aunt Esmerelda and Uncle Saradoc of Brandy Hall refused to let him in the room if his cousin Merry came down sick, so he wasn't able to watch or help during those times.

"Uncle Bilbo, put this under your tongue," Frodo encouraged, and Bel let him do this part, glad that Bilbo didn't put up a fuss. Of course before the process finished, Bilbo sneezed so hard he shot the thermoter clear across the room, looking quite embarassed.

"I'b sorry," Bilbo apologized, and Frodo couldn't help it...he started laughing.

"Now Mr. Frodo," Bel warned, though she couldn't fight a snicker as well. "All right, all right, no worries. We'll just try again, unless we've got something already." She got up and went to retrieve the thermometer, finding the red line had risen. "Mmmm...37 on the dot, Mr. Bilbo. You've a fever."

Bilbo shivered. No wonder he felt so hot and so cold at the same time!

Frodo caught sight of his Uncle's trembles, and pulled the quilt closer to the older hobbit's neck.

He felt a lump in his throat at the sight of his miserable Uncle, and fought the urge to burst into tears.

"I'll be all right, Frodo-lad," Bilbo encouraged, noticing the tween's expression.

"I've got it from here, Mr. Frodo," Bel added. "If your Uncle needs you, I'll call."

Frodo sniffed and left the bedroom, leaning against the wall just outside the door. He could hear Bel and Bilbo's muffled voices, and quickly wiped a tear from his eye. "Please get well," he whispered.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in a whirlwind of activity, trying to make sense of the seemingly endless piles of books, maps, and papers his Uncle had strewn around the smial. The study in particular needed a good cleaning, for it was impossible to move. Frodo took care of afternoon tea at four o'clock, serving it to Mrs. Gamgee who sat doing her knitting she looked on at her patient. Bilbo wasn't hungry, but he took some tea, and another dose of cough syrup.

Frodo sat with Bilbo while Bel made supper (Hamfast was caring for the children at number three, so there was no need for her to rush home until later), and kept the older hobbit entertained with stories. Bilbo's cough seemed to get worse as the night went on, and when the pain in his chest grew too great, he reached for Frodo's hand.

"It hurts," Bilbo squeaked, and Frodo nodded.

"I know," he said. "I know, Uncle Bilbo. But it'll be all right soon, you'll see."

"Bel?" Frodo spoke quietly when he joined his neighbor in the kitchen. "Bilbo sounds worse. I think I should send for the healer, don't you?"

Bel looked at him thoughtfully.

"Not just yet, Mr. Frodo. It's only been one day, and everyone always feels worse in the night. If you don't mind taking over supper, I'll get a nice warm bath drawn with some mint leaves, to see if that helps with the breathing. If he's not doing any better by first breakfast, I'll have Hamson send for the healer. Give it time, lad."

Frodo took over the cooking at her insistence, not at all interseted in the beef stew she'd began to heat up in the cast iron pot on the stove.

He took his supper into Bilbo's favorite parlor, sitting on the familiar overstuffed chair by the lit fireplace. He stared into the flames as he ate, one spoonful after another, listening as his Uncle broke into a rather violent fit of sneezes.

"Goodness, Mr. Bilbo, you'd best be careful or you'll do yerself an injury!" Bel warned, offering a fresh handkerchief to the patient, who had just been tucked back into bed following a bath. The linenes had been changed, and he wore a fresh night shirt, which helped quite a bit.

"Bel, you don't have to stay the night, honestly," Bilbo admitted. "Hamfast can't be expected to wrestle all of those young ones to bed alone, can he?" he smiled faintly.

"He'll be just fine, sir," She replied. "Frodo's simply too young to be up all night, even though I'm sure he'd want to." She patted the older hobbit's hand, glad to find it slightly warmer than it had been.

Bilbo closed his eyes, his head spinning, and he took a deep breath. "Mmm." He could only mutter, and she clucked her tongue.

Frodo remained by Bilbo's bedside with Bel until nearly midnight, when she shooed him off to bed. "No hobbit should be up with the dawn, Mr. Frodo," she said. "Besides, it wouldn't do for you to get sick as well. Yer Uncle is quiet now."

Frodo peered at the elder hobbit's sleeping face, still rosy with fever, his curls plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"I suppose I ought to go to bed, then," Frodo whispered. "Good night, Mrs. Gamgee." He kissed Bilbo's hand ever so gently, glad the old hobbit didn't stir. "Good night, Uncle Bilbo."

Bel watched Frodo leave the room, before turning her attention back to her patient.

How sleep came to Frodo at all, he had no idea, but he guessed all the work he'd done throughout the day tuckered him out more than he thought. The second he climbed into his own bed and his head hit the pillow, he was barely conscious enough to say his usual good night to the moon.

Frodo slept all the way past Elevenses that morning, for a change not dreaming a single dream, and only awoke to the sound of someone calling his name.

"Mr. Frodo sir?" The voice repeated, and Frodo opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. He was a little startled to see young Sam standing by the bed, looking curious. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but my Ma asked me to see to it that you woke, or you'd miss luncheon, as well!"

Frodo sat up straight at once, rubbing his eyes, and saw the tray of delectable food set out on his desk.

"What...I've missed first AND second breakfast?" he asked, alarmed. How Bilbo would scold if he knew!

"Aye, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied. "But Ma said you had a good reason. You were up half the night with Mr. Bilbo."

Bilbo.

Frodo searched Sam's face for any sign of change. "Have you seen Bilbo, Sam? Is he all right?"

Sam shrugged, looking sheapish. "No, sir, I wasn't allowed in the sick room jes yet."

Frodo felt his heart thumping with nerves, and crawled out of bed, begging Sam's pardon.

"I must go and see him," Frodo insisted, and he noticed the expression of doubt Sam wore. "I won't forget your lovely tray, Sam-lad, don't worry," he chuckled, and the younger hobbit sighed with relief.

Frodo hurried down the corrider, reaching his Uncle's room in record time.

Bel sat beside the bed with a cup of broth, carefully administering it to the older hobbit. "Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked quietly, and both of his elders turned in his direction.

"Mr. Frodo, you'vce nearly gone and slept the day awa!" Bel laughed heartily. "Did Sam bring you that tray as I asked?"

Frodo nodded. "Yes, ma'am, he did," he replied.

"Good, good," she said, clearly pleased.

"How are you feeling, Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked, approaching the bed more closely, so he could get a better look. Bilbo was still pale, but he was no longer sweating, and a bit of sparkle had returned to his brown eyes.

"The fever's broken," Bel explained, patting her employer's hand. "Thank the stars. He had a hard night." She frowned a little. "But a few more days of bed rest will do a load of good."

Bilbo cleared his still scratchy throat, and reached for Frodo's hand. Frodo clasped it eagerly, and smiled with relief. "Thank you for being such a big help to me, my dear boy," he said, and Frodo wrapped his arms around his Uncle's waist, nearly upsetting the tray.

"He's still got recoverin' to do," Bel said. "Yer Uncle's not quite out of the woods yet, but he will be soon enough. The fever worried me most."

"I was frightened, Uncle," Frodo whimpered, feeling Bilbo's hand on his back. "I thought you might..." Bilbo touched Frodo's lips.

"Nonsense," Bilbo insisted. "No one ever died from a simple cold."

Bel arched an eyebrow. "If they aren't taken care of proper, a cold could easily lead to pneumonia," she said, and Bilbo sneezed, causing both of his guests to jump. Bel looked at Frodo who handed his Uncle a fresh handkerchief, and smiled.

"Now go on and start on yer Elevenses, before it turns cold!"

Frodo gave Bilbo a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying out of the room once more.

Bel returned her attention to Bilbo with a laugh. "I daresay, you've a good, honest, hard-working lad, Mr. Bilbo. I can see why you chose to adopt him."

"Yes." Bilbo said with another tired smile. "I'd be lost without him." He was quiet a moment as Bel fed him another spoonfull of broth. "Lost in deed."

**END**


End file.
